


Cold water, warm cheeks

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Beach Sex, Bellamy has a lot of feelings, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Sand in uncomfortable places, Smut, smut with feelings, swimming lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Clarke teaches Bellamy how to swim.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 31
Kudos: 194





	Cold water, warm cheeks

**Author's Note:**

> Here's smutty Saturday! The 100 made it to the sea at the end of S1 and the Ark never came down and they're having a lovely time building a new life. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing this. Happy reading!

Bellamy knows it's long past time he learnt to swim.

They've been living more or less peacefully by the sea for a couple of months, now. Most of the delinquents have learnt how to splash around in the shallows well enough to make a little forward progress and avoid drowning. But Bellamy himself has yet to take the plunge – it's still strange and new to him, the idea of _water_ like this, and he's worried that he might embarrass himself and undermine his authority with the kids if he screws up.

He's also worried that he might embarrass himself in front of _Clarke_. Which is why it makes no sense at all that he's on the point of agreeing to her suggestion, now.

"I'll teach you." She offers brightly. "I don't mind. No – I _want_ to. I'd feel much happier knowing you're safe in the water."

He makes a noise. He's not sure what he's hoping to convey with that noise, but it's a noise nonetheless. It buys him a moment to attempt to get his thoughts in order at least.

"We can do it when none of the younger kids are around to get curious. We could even pick a time when the moon's full and sneak out at night." She suggests.

He gulps. Clarke being kind to him is one thing. But Clarke offering to sneak around in the moonlight with him? Presumably in underwear, if he knows the first thing about swimming?

That's – that's a lot.

He tries for a smooth smirk. It's a facial expression he's mostly quite good at around other women, but around Clarke it has a funny habit of morphing into an adoring smile.

"We could try that." He says, light, trying to be casual.

"Great. There's a full moon tonight and the sky looks clear." She tells him, a little too smug, as if she had this planned all along.

Of course she did. She's _Clarke_. It's like making plans to confound him is her calling in life. That and being too damn beautiful for her own good.

…...

He spends the rest of the day worrying, and trying to paste his usual arrogant expression onto his face to disguise it.

He worries about the actual swimming, although not a great deal. He figures that he's unlikely to drown with Clarke there to look out for him, and the kids will not be there to witness his frantic splashing. In fact, they need never even know about the sneaking out at all.

He worries about failing, letting Clarke down. He never likes to feel like he has disappointed her, and he has to admit he's basically been seeking her approval above all things for some weeks now. It all started that day they fled the dropship camp, he thinks, and she told him _you did good here_. He remembers feeling warm all over at her words, with a strange mix of affirmation and arousal he's been struggling with every time she's praised him since.

That brings him rather abruptly to his third worry.

He worries about succeeding, and winning Clarke's praise. That might sound silly, but it's a real fear. Because he's been struggling with something of a problem, of late – a problem that grows worse with every day that passes.

He gets really turned on by Clarke praising him, it turns out.

So that's why he's apprehensive. If they're out there in the moonlight in their underwear and then on top of all that she starts telling him he's doing well, he just knows he's going to get embarrassingly hard and she's going to learn about his silly attraction to her. And he's pretty sure he can't let that happen. Clarke is his colleague, and sometimes friend, and on top of all that she's scarcely six months older than his baby sister. That's possibly a silly thing to worry about, given Bree and Roma and Fox are much the same age, but there's a difference, somehow. Maybe because there are no pesky feelings involved, when he thinks about them.

In short, he's pretty sure having a foolish crush on Clarke is not something he wants to let slip in the middle of a swimming lesson.

The solution is simple, he resolves – he's just going to have to be absolutely and thoroughly mediocre.

…...

His resolution lasts about as long as it takes for night to fall and him to find himself sitting on the beach and waiting for Clarke. He doesn't want to be mediocre. He wants to be _good_ , and he wants her to tell him he is. Embarrassment be damned.

Yeah, he really needs to learn how to keep control of his overenthusiastic heart, one of these days.

He just really has a thing about Clarke's approval, OK? He's always been a sucker for approval in general, for as long as he can remember. He worked way too hard at school, trying to make up for a distant mother who was permanently showering her love on her second child. And then as soon as he was old enough, he learnt how to make girls moan his name, and learnt that could go some way towards soothing his self esteem. And since Clarke came on the scene, with _I need you_ and _you did good here_? Yeah, since then he's been a pathetic mess, he's pretty sure.

A pathetic mess hidden beneath a cocky smirk.

This whole swimming thing is a stupid idea, he decides, as he sits and waits. It's late autumn and the air is cold – he cannot imagine how much worse the water will be. The pebble beach is hard and uncomfortable beneath his butt.

But then Clarke appears, walking down the beach in her underwear like something out of a dream, and he changes his mind rather abruptly.

This is, quite literally, the best idea she's ever had. And that's saying something, because she has a lot of good ideas.

"You OK?" She asks, dropping a pile of clothes and what looks like a large blanket in a heap at his side.

He grunts a bit. He's not OK, but he doesn't want to admit that.

"Come on, let's get started."

He gets to his feet, sheds his clothes. He can think of more fun reasons to undress in front of Clarke, but this is how it is. And then he follows her tentatively towards the water's edge.

"Want to tell me a bit about why you haven't learnt yet?" She asks softly. "If you're scared of water that's nothing to be ashamed of. I'd just want to know before we try this."

He forces his jaw to unclench far enough to answer her question. "I guess I'm a little nervous of water because it's so new. But it's mostly not that, really. It's mostly that I don't want to look stupid in front of the kids."

"But you don't mind trying in front of me?"

"You're not one of the kids." He says, instinctively.

Then he reminds himself very firmly that she is, actually.

She doesn't seem to object. She smiles a little, starts walking into the water. "Come on in, then." She invites him. "It's pretty cold but we won't stay out here too long tonight. And it gets better if you just go for it, get straight in there."

He trusts Clarke more than he has ever trusted anyone in his life, he's pretty sure. So he grits his teeth and wades straight into the water, up to his waist, ignoring the shock of the sudden cold. He's experienced more unpleasant things on Earth, after all. And she's right, it's better once the initial impact is over. It starts to feel almost normal quite quickly, it turns out.

"We're going to start with you just floating on your back to get your confidence in the water." Clarke tells him, mostly businesslike, but with a hint of care. She's always been strangely good at that, mixing warmth and efficiency like no one else he's ever met.

"OK."

"So you need to just lie back in the water and spread your arms and legs like a star shape. I'll be here to catch you if you panic, but as long as you keep calm and keep that shape you should float just fine."

He wonders what she means by catching him if he panics. He's still frowning about that as he follows her instructions, sinking back into the water and spreading his limbs.

Then he realises what she meant. Her arms are hovering under him, just barely touching him in the water, one ghosting against his back, the other just below his butt.

He's completely and utterly screwed.

"That's really good, Bellamy. That's perfect."

No – _now_ he's completely and utterly screwed. He feels his cock give an interested twitch despite the cold water. Clarke half naked and touching him and telling him he's doing _perfect_ is quite a lot to handle, it turns out.

She's oblivious to his struggles, it seems, as she keeps talking. "You're doing great so far. Just get used to this for a little while and then we'll try kicking."

He nods, then remembers he's still floating when the gesture makes him lose his balance in the water. He gets an eyeful of salty sea, and a rather closer encounter with the arm Clarke has hovering near his waist as he tries to regain his shape and control.

"You're OK. You're fine. You're doing great."

He doesn't nod this time. He's a bit busy willing his cock to stay calm.

She takes pity on him not much later, decides he has floated long enough. He stands up, relieved to have his head a little further from the water and his cock a little better concealed. This is going fine – no major disasters so far, either sexual or swimming-related.

And then she reaches her hands out towards him.

"Hold onto me. You're going to have a go at kicking, now. Get on your front in the water and hold onto me."

Hold onto her. Right. Yeah. That's totally something he can do.

He reaches out, clasps his hands hesitantly around her elbows. She seems rather more confident as she grasps his biceps, then urges him to fall forward and kick. He follows her instructions, carefully, a little unsure. He knows he must be lighter in the water, but he's still not entirely convinced by the idea of Clarke holding him up. He knows she's strong, but he's much heavier than she is.

He needn't have worried, it turns out. He kicks for a bit, and she holds him tight without showing the slightest sign of discomfort.

"That's good. That's really great, Bellamy."

It's a good job he's on his front, now. He really can't deal with her praising him while she's holding so tight to his arms like this. It makes his mind go all sorts of places it's not allowed to go, places where she's gripping onto him and showering him in approval for rather different reasons.

After a while they move on, adding in strokes with his arms while Clarke just stands by watching and encouraging him. He never realised she'd be so good at teaching him as this – he knows she's fundamentally a kind person, but he doesn't consider her the most patient woman of his acquaintance. Yet somehow tonight she seems content to stand around watching his slow progress and urging him on for as long as it takes.

Not for the first time, he allows himself to wonder whether she's different with him. Just for a second, he entertains the possibility that he brings out her warmer and softer side.

No. No, he mustn't dwell on that. His erection is quite large enough as it is, thank you very much.

"Let's stop there." Clarke declares, at that very moment. "That's enough for today. We should get out before we get too cold. We can try again tomorrow?"

"Yeah." He agrees, a little brusque, standing up in the water and wondering how to get out of here without embarrassing himself.

The plan he makes is simple, but he hopes it will be effective. He'll let Clarke get out first, wait for her to head to her clothes and that thing that might be a blanket or a makeshift towel. Then he'll follow her, quickly, take his clothes and run, so she only ever sees him from the back. It'll be fine. She won't notice a thing.

He hopes.

He watches her walk out of the water, gives her a good head start before he begins to follow. This will be OK. He's almost half way there, now. He can -

"Bellamy? You OK?" She asks, turning back to look for him.

Damn it.

He watches her eyes grow wide, her jaw fall open.

"Are you OK?" She asks again, but this time she's staring at his crotch.

He figures there are two options, here. He can either admit to being absolutely head over heels for her, or he can try to pass it off as no big deal.

Yeah, no prizes for guessing which he chooses.

"I'm fine, Princess." He tries for a casual tone and a smooth smirk. "I'm a hot-blooded guy, you're a hot woman in underwear. These things happen. I'll get over it."

She looks even more stunned, now. How has that happened?

He tries not to hang around to think about it. He makes a beeline straight for his clothes, grabs the bundle and starts to head back to his shelter.

"Wait!" Clarke requests – or perhaps orders. "You can't just go home soaking wet like that. You'll get cold. Come on, I brought a towel. Dry off."

He frowns. Sure enough, she does seem to be using that old blanket as a towel. He stands there, stupid, for a few seconds while she rubs herself down.

Then she tosses the towel to him.

And then, of all things, she turns around and unhooks her bra.

"Clarke -"

"Don't want to put my clothes on over wet underwear. Just turn around if you don't like the view." She snaps.

He's puzzled by that. He likes the view very much – didn't he more or less admit to that just now? What does she think is going on, here? It's hardly likely that he'd get an erection just from staring at her in ice cold water one minute then decide she was repulsive the next, is it?

She's a very strange woman, is his Clarke.

Sorry, _Clarke_. Just Clarke. No one's Clarke – her own woman. Certainly not _his_ Clarke.

It's the shivering that snaps him out of it. She's right – he really is getting cold. Teeth chattering, he turns around, towels off, and starts to tug his clothes back on with shaking hands. Damn it. This late night late autumn swimming lesson was an absolutely insane idea.

He means to give her back the towel and run, when he's done. His shelter isn't so far away, and he has furs there. He'll warm up soon enough.

She doesn't give him that option.

"My god, Bellamy. You're shivering."

Yes. Yes he is. But it'll pass, he supposes.

"Come on, sit with me for a minute. We should get you warmed up before you go home."

It never even occurs to him to argue, despite their confrontational past. Maybe it's because she's practically a doctor, or maybe it's because he's chasing her approval. Either way, he sits on the cold pebbles at her side, permits her to wrap the slightly damp blanket around both of them.

And then she leans right into his side, wraps her arms around his waist, nestles her head on his chest.

"You should have said you were cold. Are you feeling OK? Just sit here and warm up for a bit."

"I'm fine, Clarke. You can quit fussing." He hopes he sounds like the man who leads these kids by day. He hasn't always felt much like that man, tonight.

"Stupid of me. I should have realised you were getting cold – it's not like you're used to being in the water. But you're _you_ , aren't you? I guess I just think you're invincible or something."

That's... that's interesting. That sounded like a compliment, maybe? Or something approaching validation, at least.

He needs to pull himself together. He very much hopes his smirk is still in place. He's a mature young man, the leader of a bunch of teenagers. He didn't ought to be getting so overexcited at a passing compliment or two.

Yeah, his cock doesn't seem to have got that memo.

Apparently oblivious to his discomfort, Clarke keeps talking. She never was one to keep quiet for his convenience.

"You did really well out there today. I knew you'd be strong but I didn't realise you'd learn so quick, too."

He gives a shrug. "Thanks for your help. You were a great teacher."

They sit in silence for a few moments. Bellamy's a little confused by the fact Clarke is still wrapped around him so tightly. He's aware that he was recently shivering, but he's not shivering any more, and he doesn't consider them to be the kind of close friends who engage in a lot of gratuitous hugging. Sure, he'd _like_ them to be those kinds of friends. He'd like them to be even more than that, if he's being truly honest. But last time he checked they were cordial acquaintances who sometimes have a laugh when working together at best.

At last, he forces himself to break the silence.

"Thanks. I'm warmer now. I should go. Could we do this again some time?"

Clarke nods, almost eagerly, he thinks. "Sure. Any time."

"Let me know what I can do to return the favour." He says lightly. "Want me to take over your next water run?"

She fixes him with a hard glare. "No. It's fine, Bellamy. You don't owe me anything. You work really hard round here, you do a great job running camp, and I just wanted to help you out."

His cock twitches. He does a great job running camp – it's official. He just heard Clarke say it herself.

"Thanks, Princess."

As ever, she doesn't know when to leave well enough alone. "I mean it. It was no bother. And you're such a good -"

"Clarke. Stop." He bites out, swallows loudly.

"Bellamy?"

"Just – I have to go." He tells her, hoarse.

He sees her eyes flicker down to the tent he's making in their blanket. Then her gaze flashes back up to his, and for the first time in all these weeks he realises something.

She's looking at him like she likes what she sees.

He barely has time to process that before her lips are on his. She's kissing him. He can scarcely believe it, but it's true. She's kissing him. _Clarke_ is kissing him.

Wow.

She's not just kissing him as if it's a way to pass the time, either. She's kissing him hungrily, urgently, as if she wants something from him.

This is good. He can work with this. He knows how to give her what she wants. That's what he's going to do, he decides. He's going to gift her one beautiful orgasm, and then he's going to take his unsuitable crush and hide from her for the rest of the week, probably.

He lies her back on the beach, the blanket spread out haphazardly beneath her.

"Can I go down on you?" He asks softly. "I'll take good care of you." It's a solemn promise, probably a little too deep for a hurried hook up on a beach.

"I know you will." She tells him, smiling a soft smile.

Huh. Apparently his reputation precedes him. Or – or does he dare to hope that she might mean it in a different way? Does he dare to hope that she might mean it in almost the same way he did?

"Is that a yes?" He asks, trying for a teasing, confident tone.

She nods, reaches up for one more kiss.

He kisses her deeply, then pulls away to kneel between her legs. He undoes the trousers she so recently put back on, tugs them down. She's not wearing underwear, of course, so he can see everything, all at once. He grins, bends down and gets to work.

She tastes salty. Of course she does – they've just been swimming in the sea. But she tastes like _Clarke_ , too, a flavour that reminds him of the smell that wafts past every time she walks by. He might be a little obsessed with her, in case that wasn't clear.

He's barely made a start, but she's already making some of his deepest, most hotly-desired dreams come true. She's gasping her appreciation, rolling her hips against him.

"That's so good." She tells him, breathless. "You're so good, Bellamy. Love it when you use your tongue like that."

He does it again.

"That's great."

And again.

A moan. "Feels so good."

He's almost past the point of being able to concentrate on what he's doing, now. He's grinding desperately against the ground beneath him, cold pebbles and the rough denim of his trousers offering little in the way of relief. That's fine, he tries to tell himself. He's not here for relief, doesn't deserve to get himself off. He's just here to take care of Clarke.

He tries to refocus, flicks his tongue again just how she seems to like it.

"Perfect." She gasps, reaching down to tangle her hand in his hair.

He wishes he could do this all night. He's genuinely never felt so _warm_ in his life, he thinks, as he feels now, lying on a cold beach with his lips tasting salt and his hips grinding against stone. He's flushed with success, dizzy with pride at the fact he can make Clarke feel this way.

He can't believe this is really happening.

It's over all too quickly. Apparently she's not lying, when she tells him it feels good. She's falling apart within minutes, writhing against his face as she pulses, hard.

Then it is done. But somehow her hand is still in his hair, and he's still got his face resting against her inner thigh. She's all soft skin over firm muscle, and it feels good against his cheek.

"That was so good." She tells him, raking her fingers through his hair.

He likes having her play with his hair like that. It's kind of gentle, and tender, and makes him feel cherished. He wonders if he could stay here a moment and make the most of it while it lasts.

But then he recalls that his hair must still be damp and sticky with salt from swimming, and wonders about apologising.

She carries on talking before he can.

"Let me take care of you now? Can I return the favour?" She asks.

No. No, that's not how this works. He's here for the high of her approval, not to take her mouth for himself. He's supposed to take care of _her_ , and that's final.

With scarcely a word of apology, he leaves her and flees up the beach, back towards his shelter. He can't stay here and let her talk him into returning the favour. He can't fall any further into this damn crush, and he mustn't allow himself to dream that all her words about his oral skills and his swimming lesson actually mean she thinks he is much use as a human being. Above all, he mustn't allow himself to believe that she values him as much as he values her.

And yet he realises, with a hot flush of shame, that within minutes he will be jerking off to the memory of her holding tight to his arms and telling him how well he's doing.

…...

He avoids her for the next few days. That doesn't mean he doesn't see her or speak to her, of course, because they run a camp together. But he avoids speaking to her about anything personal, avoids letting _seeing her_ stretch out into _staring at her_.

Above all, he makes no more mention of swimming lessons.

She tries, once or twice. The morning after the night before, she points out the cloud cover and says they won't be able to swim that night. Two days later, it's clear, and she asks him if he thinks the moon will be full enough to give them light.

He does think the moon would be full enough, as it happens. But he doesn't tell her that. He tells her that he's on night watch, and goes to swap with Miller in order to make that the truth.

…...

Weeks pass, and Clarke doesn't try to convince him to swim again. Bellamy likes to think he gets over it, kind of. He gets over that night a little bit, makes a tiny smidge of progress with managing his crush. And he throws everything into his day job of running this place.

It seems to work. The kids respect him even more than ever – but some of them seem to _like_ him more than they used to, and that brings a smile to his face. He stops sleeping with every girl who looks interested, hooks up occasionally with Bree, but otherwise sleeps alone and tries not to think too hard about Clarke. He sees the temporary shelters become cabins, the storeroom become full, and tries to learn how to take his self esteem from pride in a job well done, rather than relying on others to tell him he's doing OK.

It's a work in progress – but the key thing is, there's progress.

That progress is thrown clean out of the window the day Clarke corners him at the smokehouse.

"Hey." He says, deliberately casual, almost calm. He'll conquer this crush – he is determined on that.

"Hey."

There's a pause. She's frowning, a frown even deeper than the one she usually wears to argue with him about patrol schedules. She swallows loudly.

"I promise I'll behave better if you want to come swimming again." She rushes out, eyes fixed on thin air over his left shoulder. "I mean it. I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have."

That's not a sentence, he's pretty sure. But she does seem unusually overwrought so he lets it go.

"Clarke -"

"I won't try anything, I promise. I think it'd be safer if you knew how to swim. So if you want to try again I won't – yeah. Or I can find someone else to teach you. Or I can -"

"Clarke." He says, firmer, manages to halt the flow of her words. "Last thing I checked, it was my idea. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable."

"I started it." She argues.

"I think my cock started it, actually." He risks joking, and is rewarded with an exasperated smile.

"So is that a yes to the swimming?" She asks. He wonders whether she's deliberately echoing the way he propositioned her, all those weeks ago. No, there's no way. No way she would want to remember that foolish mistake.

"Yeah. I didn't say anything because I thought you were uncomfortable." It's half a lie, but she doesn't need to know that. "Let's swim again if you're OK with that."

"Great." She nods, once, resolute. "There's no one due to be in the North Bay this afternoon."

He stares at her, stunned. Of course. This is Clarke – he should have known she would never have started this conversation without having her endgame all planned out.

"You want to go now?" He checks.

"Yeah. We're both free."

Of course she knows they're both free. They know each other's schedules. Damn it, his Clarke is an infuriatingly cunning woman.

Sorry, just _Clarke_. A harmless mistake, that. He really is making progress with this crush. Honestly, he is.

He nods, admitting defeat. Is this defeat? Actually, it feels a lot like victory.

"Let me just go grab a towel." He says.

He's not making that mistake twice.

…...

It's an odd kind of feeling, wandering along to the North Bay with Clarke on a sunny winter afternoon. He's only tried to go on a date once before. When he was nineteen, he asked a harmless young woman to hang out in the rec room with him. She wanted to go back to his quarters to hook up, he had to say no because of Octavia, and the romance died then and there.

This? This feels a bit different. Although he's totally succeeding at fighting his crush on Clarke.

Until she goes and ruins his progress once again.

"I didn't think you were going to say yes." She murmurs, and she sounds _sad_ at the idea. "I thought I'd scared you off or something."

He laughs stiffly, tries to make it sound as if the very idea is ridiculous. "No. Definitely not. I thought I'd scared you off."

"You're the one who ran away, that night." She reminds him sharply.

"Clarke, I'm -"

"Don't you dare tell me you're sorry." She snaps. "I get it. I'm not your type. But I'm just glad we can still be friends and hang out like this. I missed your company." She tells him, and he thinks she sounds annoyed.

He's sorry that she's annoyed, of course he is. But mostly he's just overwhelmed with stunned joy. She thinks _she's_ not _his_ type? That's so far wrong it's almost _funny_ , he thinks. There he was worrying that _he_ wasn't _her_ type – all hard edges and poor choices, not like Finn with his soft good looks. And on top of all that, she genuinely likes his company? She honestly missed his friendship?

In this moment he realises that he has been something of an idiot.

"It's not like that at all." He corrects her firmly.

"Like what? Like you didn't run out on me because you decided you weren't interested in letting me suck you off after all?"

He draws in a long breath. "It's not that I wasn't interested. It's just – that was all I really wanted to do that day, I guess. All I felt comfortable doing."

"Well I didn't feel comfortable with it." She tells him robustly. "I wanted it to be more... _balanced_ than that. I felt like I'd just used you to get off and I respect you too much to want that."

"I'm sorry." He apologises, and this time she allows him to. "If it helps, I really did enjoy it even though I didn't come. I like hearing women tell me what I'm doing is good." He gathers his courage, prepares to tell her the whole truth. "I like hearing _you_ tell me I'm good."

She stops dead. He turns to face her, notes in a strangely absent sort of way that they seem to be having it out about their feelings for each other in a damp patch of forest half way to the North Bay. But she at least looks a bit happier now, he thinks.

He hopes.

"I like telling you you're good." She murmurs.

He thinks the bottom might have fallen out of his world.

"What?" He asks, stunned.

"I like telling you you're good." She repeats, voice stronger, more like what he associates with Clarke. "That's partly why I was frustrated at how it turned out that night. I like seeing your face light up when I tell you that you're doing a good job, and I didn't get to see that. And I could _feel_ your shoulders relax every time I said anything but I couldn't -"

He cuts her off with a kiss. It's probably not very polite to do that, probably an accidental implication that he doesn't respect her words, or something, when nothing could be further from the truth. But he doesn't much care, because his absolute priority right now is a burning need to let Clarke Griffin know that he adores her.

She gets the picture. He can tell. She kisses him back, rather more gently than they kissed that night all those weeks ago. This is not a kiss that is leading them straight to sex at great speed, but a kiss that is curious, excited, exploring.

She draws away first, but somehow keeps hold of his hand.

"Come on. I really would feel happier if you learn how to swim."

He presses a brief kiss to her nose. That's something he's literally never in his life before contemplated doing, but it feels like the kind of caring, affectionate gesture he wants to share with Clarke.

"OK. Let's swim."

They start walking, side by side. Bellamy tightens his hold on Clarke's hand, just to make it clear he'd rather she didn't pull away. It's not like they've really defined what's going on here, yet, and he's worried that she might flee if he doesn't make it clear that he wants her to stick around.

Yeah, the irony of that is not lost on him.

They arrive at the North Bay before long. Bellamy kicks off his shoes and feels sand beneath his toes. Clarke lets go of his hand to unlace her boots and he misses her fingers. He wonders if that makes him pathetic. Probably it doesn't matter, he resolves – it looks like they can both be pathetic together, if he's read this afternoon right.

Then Clarke tugs her shirt over her head.

"It's rude to stare." She informs him, tone teasing, and he realises he is doing just that.

"Sorry." He looks away pointedly.

She laughs brightly, steps forward to kiss him once on the lips. "It's OK. You're forgiven. Am I allowed to stare at you now, too?"

He swallows. "Yeah, I guess. If you see something you like."

The air feels strangely tense and _heavy_ as he pulls his shirt off. By the time his head has emerged again, sure enough, Clarke is staring pointedly at his chest.

And then she stops staring, darts forward, and starts pressing quick kisses to his chest and collarbone and upper arms.

He grins. He can't help it. He always knew Clarke had a playful side – that's how she's been making him smile ever since the day they met, pretty much. But he's still a little overwhelmed with joy that she's now being _sexually_ playful with him. It makes a beautiful contrast with her more practical persona around camp, and it makes him feel warm all over that she's choosing to share this aspect of her personality with _him_.

He catches her face between his palms, cradles her head against his chest. She giggles a little and stops with the incessant kisses.

"Swimming lesson?" She asks, muffled against his skin.

"Swimming lesson as foreplay? Count me in."

She's smiling as she pulls away. He's pleased he said what he just said – the air feels less tense, now he's got it out in the open. Now they've both acknowledged where this is going, agreed that they're on the same page about what happens next.

They finish undressing with only a couple of brief interruptions to make out. Then they get into the water, which is cold, but bearable. Bellamy more or less remembers what they covered last time, so he gets straight on with swimming up and down in a splashy straight line.

"That's really good, Bellamy. You're doing great."

He groans. Is she trying to drive him insane? If so, it's working.

"I love watching you swim." She adds, less than helpfully.

He stops, stands up to face her. "Clarke -"

"Just trying to be encouraging." She tells him with a pert smile and a quick kiss.

Yeah, OK, he could get used to this. Sure, it's distracting. But it's worth it – it feels so good having her shower him with affection like this.

He just wishes he could make her feel even half as good in return.

No. He can work on that later. Right now he ought to be concentrating on not drowning.

They swim for an hour or so, minus interruptions. There are quite a lot of interruptions – Bellamy's not convinced they swim for longer than about thirty minutes, actually. But at last his arms are aching and his cock is straining against his wet boxers and he decides that Clarke's bra has overstayed its welcome.

"You good to go?" He asks her, fixing her with a look that makes it abundantly clear he's not just asking if she's ready to leave the water.

She nods.

He wastes no further time. He's already wasted months, after all – months in which, it turns out, she'd have been quite happily hooking up with him after all. Maybe even _more_ than hooking up, if her warm looks and kind words and genuine encouragement today are anything to go by.

He scoops her up in his arms and carries her out of the water. She laughs against his neck, and wriggles a little to get more secure, but doesn't protest. Again, he cannot help but grin at her relaxed playfulness. This is everything he ever wanted to be able to share with her, and then some.

He sets her down on her blanket-towel, then reaches for his own and starts using it to dry her off. She looks pretty surprised by that, initially, but soon relaxes and lies back, closing her eyes as he rubs gently down her legs.

"You have to dry yourself, too." She murmurs when he's almost done. "I don't want you shivering again."

"You first."

"No. I'm good. Dry yourself – or let me dry you."

He stifles a chuckle. He should have known they would still be bickering, even now. He thinks maybe that's a good thing, actually – he does love to argue with Clarke, as long as it remains more enthusiastic than truly heated.

He hands over the towel, lets her dry him. She did say she wanted to be allowed to return the favour more often, after all, and if he knows Clarke half as well as he thinks he does, he suspects she meant returning all kinds of favours, not just the sexual ones.

Before long, they're both dry. Bellamy finds that he is sitting on the towel at Clarke's side, bare skin tickled by a chilly breeze, as he wonders what to do next.

"Shall I take my bra off then?" Clarke asks, breaking the tension with a cocked brow.

He grins. "I'd like that."

Sure enough, she unhooks her bra, lets it fall to the sand by her side. Her breasts are stunning – he already knew that, but it's even more vividly true, now they're bare, nipples erect, mere inches from his hands.

"Shall I take my boxers off then?" He forces himself to ask, voice hoarse.

It's her turn to grin. "I'd like that."

He slips out of them, enjoys Clarke's appreciative stare when his cock is revealed.

There's a beat of silence.

"We're going to get sand _everywhere_." Clarke complains. Of course she does – that's his practical Princess.

"I don't care." He tells her honestly.

That's what does it. That's the moment their mouths meet, hands reaching for each other, bodies touching. It's all a bit messy and frantic, teeth and tongues, and sure enough there's already sand in his butt crack, somehow. But he just doesn't care, as long as he's with Clarke.

Someone takes her panties off. It might be him. He doesn't really notice – just that they're gone, and she's bare and waiting for him.

"I want you inside me this time." She tells him.

"So demanding." He teases.

"Bellamy." It's not a whine but a playful admonishment. "Are you going to be good to me and give me your cock?"

Well, when she puts it like that, he's not going to disagree, is he?

"I'll be good to you." He promises her desperately. "I'll give you my cock."

"That's good." She soothes, kissing the soft skin of his neck. "I know you'll take great care of me, Bellamy."

He gulps. There's something about the tender way she says his name that has him almost falling apart there and then.

He forces himself to concentrate. Sex. He can do this – he's _good_ at it, in fact. He lies Clarke gently back on the towels, nudges her legs apart with his knee. And then he eases inside of her.

He feels her gasp in pleasure, her nails digging into his butt as she urges him a little deeper. He responds, burying himself as far as he can, and is rewarded with an appreciative groan.

God, this is good.

"This OK?" He checks. He's pretty sure he knows the answer, but he doesn't want to screw this up like he did last time.

"Better than OK." She mutters against his neck. "You feel perfect."

He tries not to let that go to his head, but mostly fails. Somehow her praise means even more to him, now that he knows she actually quite likes him as a person, thinks he's a competent leader rather than only a competent hook up.

He starts moving, trying to go slowly at first. It's a struggle – he's half-gone already, and from the way she's panting, he's sure Clarke's not far behind him. Apparently swimming lessons really can make good foreplay.

"Faster." She begs, right on cue.

He moves faster.

"That feels so good." She tells him, breathy and urgent.

"You feel perfect." He tells her, because he figures he can't be the only one who likes a little encouragement.

Sure enough, he hears her breath catch when the words leave his lips.

He tries again. "So good." He pants, as he feels control start to slip away from him.

"Feels amazing." She assures him, in between gasps.

It only gets better from there, really. He moves faster, and because Clarke is Clarke and cannot ever let anyone else do all the work, she bucks her hips ever quicker to meet him. They keep talking to each other, but their words of praise and encouragement become ever briefer, breathier, almost incoherent as they spiral closer to the edge.

Then he's there, all at once, falling apart with a groan, losing control and panicking as he comes that in this moment he's not paying enough attention to what Clarke needs.

It turns out he doesn't need to worry. She's there, too, almost as if the final push she needed was hearing him completely lose his mind over her. That's just a guess, of course, but if he knows Clarke he thinks it's probably a pretty good one.

He lies on top of her a little longer. He knows he ought to move eventually, but she started brushing her fingers through his hair almost the moment she came and he likes that, so he's in no hurry to leave.

"That was really good." She tells him softly as she plays with his hair. "I love the way you're still _you_ when we have sex. You care so much and you're always listening and responding to how I react."

He glows. There's no other word for it. She doesn't just like him because he has a big cock and broad shoulders – she likes him because of the choices he makes, too. That's something of a revelation, considering he was pretty sure his life was just one bad choice after another until he met Clarke.

He steels himself to be honest and open with her in return. "It was great for me as well. It's the same thing about you still being _you_ , I guess. You're kind of warm and fun but you like to be in charge a bit, too."

That was even harder to say than he expected. He's never tried to tell a girl why he likes her, before now. It's an odd experience, sort of terrifying and liberating all at once. Sure, they were ostensibly only talking about why the sex was so good, but he knows his words amounted to more than that.

She seems to like the way he's thinking. She runs her hand ever more tenderly across his scalp, slowing to rub at it a little with her fingertips. With the other arm she hugs him tight, obliging him to stay put on top of her.

He's not complaining.

"Are you feeling more confident about swimming now?" She asks softly.

He considers his answer, tries for a teasing tone. "No. Not at all. I think I'm going to need swimming lessons with you a lot more often in future."

She snorts out a grudging laugh. "We can do that too. But really, though?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Clarke."

"Any time. It looks like I got something out of it too." She jokes.

"I'm sorry. You were only trying to help me out and you got propositioned." It's half way between a joke and a real insecurity.

"Why do you think I offered to help?" She asks, then stiffens. "I don't mean – I wasn't only trying to get into your pants. Really. I just – you're important to me, and I was worried about you having an accident if you didn't know how to swim."

You're important to me. _You're important to me_. Those are some big words, coming from Clarke. More than Finn ever heard, he's pretty sure. Those are some words he expects he's going to hear repeating over and over in his head as he tries to get to sleep tonight, in fact.

Unless Clarke decides she wants to share a cabin now, or something. That could be good too. Should he ask her that? Is it maybe too much, too soon?

"You're important to me, too." He assures her, daring to be somewhat honest with her. He can do this. Clarke is not his mother or his sister or that girlfriend who wasn't interested when things got inconvenient. Clarke is not going to let him down.

…...

They do pull apart and dress and go back to camp, eventually. Bellamy is in no rush to do so, but he is at least reassured by just how much time they spend on the journey home planning when they might next be able to escape for an afternoon of swimming and beach sex together. He's reassured by the fact they are holding hands, too. That seems like a fairly unambiguously romantic sort of a gesture, at this point.

Jasper is the first of the kids to spot them as they approach the camp. Bellamy curses internally – this overenthusiastic young man will have the news of their clasped hands spread everywhere by supper time.

All the same, neither he nor Clarke makes any move to pull away.

"Hey, Monty!" Jasper calls loudly. "Come take a look at this! Mum and Dad got together at last!"

Bellamy sees Clarke turn her head out of the corner of his eye. He dares to look across and meet her eyes, finds that she looks more warm and amused than annoyed.

Well, then. It seems they really have got together. Logically he knew that was true, of course – there aren't a whole lot of other interpretations he's aware of for hooking up then holding hands, saying _you're important to me_ then making future plans. But his head and his heart have never been too good at staying on the same page, so it's good to have them acting in sync, now.

"Monty!" Jasper calls again.

Monty does not appear.

Jasper presses on regardless. "Hey, guys. Are you going to move in together now? Because Harper wants to move in with Monty and I don't want to be a third wheel. So I'm just saying, if you have a spare cabin and you want to do a guy a favour..." He trails off, brows raised, grin broad.

Bellamy tries for a firm frown. It doesn't come out right – he's too happy, and his smile is ruining any attempt to be stern. He glances at Clarke, finds that she is having much the same problem.

"We haven't actually talked about that yet." Clarke says, in what is apparently supposed to be a quelling tone.

"So talk about it now." Jasper demands.

"Jasper -"

"Clarke." He bites back. He's still not quite got the hang of maturity as a general concept, this particular teenager.

Bellamy steels his courage. There's a very easy way to solve this stand-off, he knows. All he has to do is summon up some bravery – a very different kind of bravery to the bravery involved in fighting grounders or hunting panthers – and trust that Clarke means it, when she tells him she values him.

"Want to move in with me, Clarke?" He asks, simple and direct.

She blinks once, then nods. "Yeah. Sounds good."

Jasper flees, crowing in delight, ready to tell the whole camp. Bellamy spares a moment to be very pleased that Clarke saved Jasper's life all those months ago, and even more pleased that he was the delinquent who they bumped into first today. Without his intervention, who knows when they might have got round to taking this next step? Based on their track record to date, he suspects it might have taken them a very long time.

"I hope that's not moving too fast for you." Bellamy murmurs to Clarke. It might have taken them unnecessarily long to get together, but things do seem to have moved quick since then.

Clarke presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "That's life on the ground. Better to make the most of happiness while we can." That's a statement that ought to be tinged with sadness, he thinks, or at least with resignation. But this afternoon, he's just too damn overjoyed to feel either of those things, and it sounds like Clarke is feeling much the same.

"Your place or mine?" He asks. "Which should we keep?"

"Yours." She says without hesitation. "You're good at building cabins."

It turns out he still gets turned on by hearing Clarke pay him trivial compliments. And based on the look in her eyes, she knows it, too. In fact, if he can read her face half as well as he thinks he can, she intends to use this knowledge against him.

He doesn't mind at all. That sounds like a future he can look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
